


"Spinorama"

by TheSungHero



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff, Hockey Ass, Illegal amounts of flirting, M/M, Olympics, figure skating, sequins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-03-26 13:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3852721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSungHero/pseuds/TheSungHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of a prompt I wrote for something else a couple of months ago. Eric Bittle is a National Figure Skating Champion entering the Olympics for the first time. Jack Zimmermann is the son of Hockey Legend Bob Zimmermann, the owner of 3 Gold Medals. Their paths cross on the ice, and thus, the game begins. </p><p>(I apologize in advance for incorrect hockey and figure skating terms. I tried to do as much research as I could)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boy, Interrupted

Eric Bittle had been ice skating as long as he could remember. When he was training for the Olympics, he'd never taken anything more seriously in his life. Skating was everything. An escape, a form of expression, and an excellent way to stay in shape. It was solitude, and it was refinement. These were things he needed. Silence, perfectly executed movements, and clean ice. Ice that wasn't completely mauled by the stupid hockey team that somehow always got to the rink before he did. Eric /detested/ hockey. The men were raucous, rude, and downright abusive. He'd been called every name in the book and then some, and he hated feeling like he was still in grade school or worse, back home. When Eric emerged from the locker room in tights and his long sweater, walking on his skates to the rink, he froze to see one lone hockey player working on a few moves. He set his jaw, his hands clenching to keep from trembling. "Hey," he called, his voice meek. "This is reserved ice time." he said, a bit stronger now, hands on his hips.

The much taller male seemed to be in a trance, and hadn't heard the call until Eric had finished. He raised his head, eyes flashing over to a very small looking skater. Figure skater, no doubt. He swallowed, and spoke.  
"Oh. Sorry." the man said quietly, a bit startled, straightening up and not really knowing how to respond.  
"It's... fine. I just requested this practice rink for a few hours tonight. I thought the hours were posted in the gym."  
"They are?"  
*exhale* "Yes." *Thank the Lord the boy's cute, bless his heart.*  
"Oh... Sorry."  
"Yes, it's fine, just, wait your turn I suppose. I kind of need most of the ice."   
"Hey. What time is it?"  
What ti-? Good lord, I don't know. Eleven?"  
"I lost track of time."  
"...Obviously."  
"Sorry. I'll be going."  
"Thanks. Take a rest why don't you? You're practically drenched." 

The pale man with icy eyes nodded and slid to the exit, putting on his blade guards and walking to his bag. He took a seat, taking off his helmet and guzzling down a ridiculous amount of water. Eric paid him no mind and darted easily onto the ice, frowning at the scrapes made by the other. He exhaled. There was nothing he could do about it. He plugged in his headphones, adjusted his stance and began warming up. He smoothly rounded the perimeter of the ice, gaining in speed and working up his legs. He'd stretched in the locker room and gratefully, didn't have to perform his embarrassing thigh stretches in front of this hockey player. 

Eric was lithe and thin, toned, but compact. He was often teased, even by other competitors in his sport for his height, weight, and personality. Though, most of those traits work to his advantage. Because of his height and weight, he was exceptionally fast and could throw himself effortlessly into the air. His personality also helped win over judges and partners alike. So, while the comments stung, he knew better than to take them to heart. He grinned as the beginning of XO started playing through his ears. He hummed the first few lines, letting Beyoncé fuel his work out, as she always faithfully did. He began with a simple jump, landing easily, the breath he'd just taken in shooting out of his lungs. He grinned. Yes. This was home. Soon, he was gliding around in leisurely figure eights, humming and every now and then throwing in a jump or two. Soon, the jumps turned into complex executions. Spins, helixes, axles, and more exploded from his small frame, making him breathless with joy. His hips swayed as he incorporated dance, and parts of his routine he needed to shine up. He had his eyes closed for some time. When he finally opened them again, he didn't expect to see icy blue eyes locked on his own. 

Jack's lips parted in shock. How was any of this possible? He was a hockey player. He understood skating, he understood ice, and he understood strategy. But this? Flips, spins, twists, dizzying jumps? This was like Greek to him. "Merde, qui est ... impossible." he mumbled, under his breath, knowing the other couldn't hear him, but still reverting to his comfortable language, French. He licked his lower lip out of habit and his eyes darted to keep up with the bubbling blonde as he quickly sped around the rink, before executing perfect jumps. He shook his head and stayed where he sat, entranced, leaning on his hockey stick, still firm in his grasp. The boy turned, opening his eyes. Jack couldn't help but stare. He was nice looking, and he executed his sport in a way he's never seen before. He soon blinked in recognition and lowered his eyes, standing to go.  
"Hey." Jack froze.  
"Hey, enjoying the show there?"  
"It's... It's nothing I haven't seen before."  
"Hmpf. Well, sorry you feel that way. Aren't you going to be late for some press conference?"  
"What?? Why-- I mean, how?"  
"I'm joking. Whatever. Do what you want, Canada."  
"Jack."  
"Jack. Well. Nice to meet you. I'm Eric, and if you'd excuse me, I've got to practice. Quit distracting me."  
"Sorry. I do have somewhere to be. Keep it up."  
"Thanks, I suppose."

And he was gone. Eric's eyebrows furrowed. Now. Just who on God's green Earth was that?


	2. We Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the first time and it won't be the last that Eric and Jack cross paths. Maybe they can learn to share the ice?

"Oui, papa, je sais. Je ne vais pas gâcher à nouveau. Non, ce ne sera pas comme la dernière fois, je promise-- Oui. Je sais que je dois gagner. Pour vous, papa. Beaux. Je dois y aller. Bien sûr, je suis pratiquant. Bon, je vais raccrocher maintenant."* Jack sighed and turned off his mobile, tossing it back onto his things in the locker room. He sat down on the bench, rubbing his face tiredly. He didn't need this, especially not now, and especially not from /him/. He huffed and stayed like that, hunched over, hands over his face. 

A whistling permeated the silence and one Eric Bittle came sauntering through the dressing area, stopping short. He noticed the other's body language and was tempted to say something, but he figured he might as well mind his own business. He hummed and faced the other direction, changing out of his tracksuit and revealing the tights and leotard he had underneath. He slipped on a sweater and grabbed his skates before walking toward the rink. But he stopped and turned around, looking to the other once more.   
"Hey. Canada."  
"Not right now, please."  
"Fine, Jack. Are you practicing in here?"  
"I was going to. But if you need it--"  
"No. I won't take up the whole rink this time. That was a bit diva-ish, I admit. I can deal with half, if you can."  
"You don't have to--"  
"Dear lord, Jack, just get on the ice please? Yeah?"  
"Alright. Thanks."  
"Mhmm, now whatever you're moping about is just going to have to shove off to the back of your mind. You've got things to do."

Jack blinked and raised his head, looking over to see if Eric was still there, but he'd just left, heading into the rink, skates over his shoulder, humming once more. Jack figured this was Eric's peace offering, and assumed it would be stupid of him to refuse it. So he stood, taking along his skates and things as well, trudging out into the cold room. He exhaled and set down his equipment, taking a moment to sit and tie his shoes. Eric was already there, a few rows down. He was just about to put on his skates when he paused and huffed indignantly. He'd forgotten to stretch, and now, he'd have to do so in front of mister 'hunky, eh?' He swallowed and began his set of stretches, reaching above his head and pulling his arms back until he felt sufficiently warm there. He swung his arms to loosen his shoulders and bent at the waist in each direction to pull at the muscles in his back and sides. Then he moved to his back, arching until his head nearly met his butt, grunting as he snapped back up. He swallowed, now for the embarrassing part.

Jack hadn't been paying much attention to the other, far too focused on his own matters, but when he heard the grunt, he looked up and was surprised to see Eric's toned butt in the air as he leaned forward, reaching past his toes. He cleared his throat in surprise, eyes widening and quickly going back to taping his stick, trying not to linger. Eric went on, lunging and stretching his legs in countless poses of varying indecency levels. Finally, he sighed and laced up his own skates, slipping onto the ice. He looked up to the Canadian hockey player who was quite flushed and focusing far too intently on taping his stick. He smirked, hands on his hip. 

"I'm no expert, but I think... that's enough tape for a season."  
"Hmm? Oh. I guess it is."   
"Care to get on the ice now?"  
"Yeah. I'm ready."  
"Good. You take the left, I'll take the right. Try not to hit me with anything."  
"I'll try my best."

Eric chuckled, realizing the other was too wound up to notice his last comment as a joke. He shrugged. "Loosen up, Canada. Whatever it is isn't even worth this much stress." He sped off to his respective side and began to skate the perimeter again, still warming up. Jack didn't answer his comment, probably far too focused on appearing fine to notice. Eric hummed and continued to slide across the clean surface, relishing in the new ice. Jack tried not to look at him. It was difficult enough with thoughts of his father in mind, but now, a new factor was added. An exceedingly attractive, adorable, and spunky figure skater who just wouldn't get out of his mind. He huffed and made his way to his side, tossing the puck absently across the ice. He practiced his drills, swiveling and weaving through imaginary players, hitting a few good shots against the wall of the rink. But he was quickly distracted by the smaller male jumping and spinning in the air effortlessly. Perhaps sharing the ice wasn't such a good idea.

Jack was unbelievably focused, Eric thought. He looked so serious and determined as he worked out plays in his head, shooting imaginary scores. He'd actually stumbled once, watching the other man do his work. He exhaled slowly. Perhaps sharing the rink wasn't the best idea. Once Eric had run through his routine 7 times, he was satisfied, and exhausted. So, he began to head off of the ice to unlace his skates, and make his way to the dressing room. He was ready to shower, relax, and move on the next thing on his list. Oddly enough, Jack had the same idea, soon, getting off of the ice and bringing his things back into the locker room. He was surprised to find Eric not in his sight. His curiosity was relieved when he heard the shower running and a slightly off-key Southern voice humming some kind of pop song. He chuckled to himself and undressed, heading to the showers as well. He soaked himself thoroughly, needing to de-stress and clean off. When he was done, he dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist. When he exited, he found Eric in a similar state, and he paused. They both froze, looking at each other. 

Perhaps sharing the rink had been a wonderful idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I don't speak French, nor do I have an extensive knowledge of Hockey or Figure Skating. This is purely for my Olympics loving pleasure and I hope you can disregard any mistakes and just enjoy this for what it is. Olympic Mushiness. Thanks.
> 
> * Jack's French: Yes, dad I know. I'm not going to mess up again. No. It won't be like last time, I promise-- Yes. I know I have to win. For you, dad. Fine. I have to go. Of course I'm practicing. Alright, I'm hanging up now.


End file.
